A Bonded Pair
by MissRizu
Summary: Christine is in love with Spock, and takes all his classes at the academy. Then Nero attacks, she is able to be on the Enterprise with Spock and McCoy's annoying roommate somehow becomes . . . captain? And then he somehow becomes, inexplicably and irritatingly, something even more to Spock. And Christine despite her best intentions finds herself right in the middle. 4 Parts.
1. Chapter 1

She took all his classes at the Academy. She sat close enough to catch each almost-expression clearly, to notice the pull of muscles in his throat when he spoke, the grace of movement that was just that extra degree of precise to take it beyond the realm of human norm.

It took her approximately two months to determine that she was in love.

She had never really understood what people meant by "falling in love," an expression she considered trite and hyperbolic. She would be reading, or studying. She would talk with the others girls about dates or crushes, but she never shared her own feelings or had many feelings about the boys at their school in any case. But she did not have another word for the way he took over her mind. She thought about him when she walked to class, when she sat down to study, when she purchased the Vulcan prayer mats and began her study of Vulcan history.

Professor Spock was nothing like anyone she had ever met. He was half Vulcan—already interesting enough, as before she began at the Academy she could have counted on one hand the number of aliens she had met. But it was not just that. It was the way he handled every task with cool competence. The way he handled people and commanded respect without raising his voice, just be earning it.

So she thought what it would mean to stand beside that strength. She could see herself there. She began cultivating a Vulcan-esque aversion to the more distracting emotions. At times, perhaps her weaker, mind-wandering times, when she was practicing meditation in her room rather than out with her roommate or cousin attending the loud parties or unnecessarily fine restaurants that sprouted up like noxious mushrooms around the Academy, she imagined that _he_ would approve.

The first two years pass in the same routine. Then the third began.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Leonard McCoy slid into the seat next to hers. She liked him because he was smart and practical and no-nonsense, and got jobs done when he said they would be done and got teams working together when they did not want to work together. So she was not unpleased when he sat next to her on the first day of the new semester.

"I wasn't sure that I would see you in advanced xenosurgical procedures," he said. "Glad I was wrong about that."

"I may one day be called upon to save some other life form. It would be short sighted to confine my studies to those with the traditional humanoid anatomy."

"Right. Won't get any argument from me," McCoy said. "Hey so I was thinking, if you have time later, you might want to get a head start on the—"

But Christine raised a hand. The professor had entered the room. The set of his shoulders, the cut of his uniform, the arch of his brows. Unbidden an image of what that face might look like gripped by passion passed before her, and she banished it. She schooled her features into what she thought might be an approximation of Vulcan clam. She was only grateful Vulcans required touch to reach your mind. Then immediately had to repress thoughts of being touched by those hands. Beside her McCoy cleared his throat and shifted.

She had decided she would write her thesis on the comparison of the different blood systems of humanoids, focusing particularly on the differences between Vulcan and human. It was a practical subject, bound to be useful on whatever ship she was assigned, but clearly also influenced by her regard for one specific Vulcan / human hybrid. But that was fine. On day she might be on his ship. The idea made her heart flutter. One day she might be on his ship, she might be called on to save his life. Then she would want this knowledge to come as easily as breathing.

She was devoted to her choice of topic. And she knew just the person to be her advisor.

She stood outside his office, clutching her data pads and rehearsing her request. She knew he was behind that door. She heard him, once, moving a chair or some other heavy object on the other side. When she entered that door they would be alone. But then Nyota Uhura rounded the corner. She knew Uhura because everyone knew her—she was friendly and intelligent, in communications so had a way with talking to people.

"Christine," Uhura stopped, smiling her easy smile. "I have an appointment to see Spock. Were you waiting for him?"

"I'm-" Jealousy was, unnecessary, unhelpful. Illogical. She would be calm, reasonable, cool under pressure. She would not allow things such as bitterness or regret sneak into her consciousness. "I'm not waiting."

Uhura gave her a brief puzzled smile, before pressing the panel to enter the room, stepping across the threshold with an easy confidence. Christine watched the door slide shut behind her, seeing him clearly sitting at the desk, standing when Uhura entered. There was some large object on the ground next to his desk, which Christine recognizes as a model of a klingon bird of prey.

Christine supposes they think it is a secret. And it is, subtle. But Christine notices it. When Uhura starts waiting outside of class. When she seems them walking down the hall. Once, when she sees them eating together at the mess hall. Seeing them together Christine is beset by what ifs. What if she had done something, she had been the one to speak with him after class, go to his office, make that astute observation or complete that extra project? If she had done something, some unknown thing, could it have been her on his arm now, sneaking intimate conversations in turbo lifts and exchanging looks with an intimacy that she had never hoped to see?

Christine had hoped but not really believed that he would do something as mundane as date. Her research had suggested that Vulcan's did not engage in casual relationships. And she had told herself, convinced herself, that he would never date a student. He spent all his time at the Academy and there were few women and no Vulcan's of his own position, age and marital status she had thought herself safe from the possibility of her not-crush being involved in a romantic entanglement.

But she could not ignore the physical, tangible evidence that this was wrong.

She wonders when it started. Was it that day in the hallway? Christine learned later Uhura had asked him to be her advisor. Spock had not take on any more students after that, he had decided sixty-seven advisees was enough and, though unfortunately arbitrary, he had to determine a numerical cutoff. That was how he had explained it to Christine, when she finally asked him a week later and he had gently, logically turned her down. What if Christine had been the one to enter his office, she had been the one he had invited to discuss things further over dinner?

It was near the end of the semester and she was sitting in McCoy's room working on a project. The rest of their group had left. They lingered over a problem. He insisted he needed her help. She wasn't so sure, but she did not mind spending time with him. McCoy was smart and kind and occasionally insightful without being invasive about it. A good manner for a doctor, and she liked him. She liked his room too. Though she was glad his roommate was out.

They sat at the table, looking at the diagrams of the cells and compounds. They needed to predict the reaction when certain medicines were used on slightly altered humanoid forms, to anticipate any adverse reactions. They had solved all, but one, a messy mix of carbon blocks sprawling over the page, was proving more complicated.

"It might interfere with this link, here, causing this entire chain to potentially switch off," McCoy said. Christine crinkled her brows.

"I think it more likely to interfere here," Christine moved her finger to the center of the page. "Affecting more than just the link, it could cause the entire thing to break apart."

McCoy was nodding when the door slid open and an exuberant shout invaded the room.

"Bones pack your overnight kit because you and I are going to meet some ladies tonight-" McCoy's roommate stopped. Though she generally avoided him, Christine remembered his name because all the girls knew his name - James Kirk. He was cocky and loud and attractive and _that_ George Kirk's son, but standing grinning in the doorway he was just making her uncomfortable with his laughing blue gaze. "Maybe you don't want to go out tonight?"

McCoy had already been glaring at his roommate and now his look turned mutinous.

"Not especially, no. You know I am working on a project."

"A project. Right," Kirk's grin widened. Christine wondered if they really thought her dense enough not to decipher their little code. Christine supposed she could see what some of the other girls saw in him. On a purely aesthetic grounds, she could see the appeal. It was particularly apparent now, in the way his eyes turned serious as he looked over at the pads on the desk, flickering quickly over the images.

"Going to solve our project for us, Jim?" McCoy said sarcastically.

Kirk was technically in their class, though he rarely made an appearance. Presumably he did the assignments. But this was a special project the professor had assigned them as future members of the medical corp. Kirk should not have been familiar with these compounds. Yet his eyes glinted with concentration, not confusion.

"Well, this protein looks like a modified form of an Orion RNA strand. Looks like it's been modified for immunity to the red pox," he said after a moment. McCoy let out an annoyed breath. "And here," he lifted the pad with the medical compound, flicking his fingers to magnify, "You would never want to give something like that to an Orion who already had this kind of modification, it would break the whole chain apart."

His finger traced the line that would unravel, and Christine could see he was right. She looked from the finger on the pad to the blue eyes of its owner, and knew she should feel impressed but instead felt mildly annoyed. They would have reached the answer in a moment. Maybe, a suspicious part of her whispered, Kirk staged this whole thing in some way to impress her. But that was unfair. She squelched the offending emotion and forced a smile. Kirk placed the pad back on the desk.

"Now, how about you both come out with me? We're going to _the Narwhal_ , I promise Bones it will be only the classiest of evenings, we can even have mint juleps."

McCoy was looking at the data pads, his mutinous expression not diminished for one moment."There is still more work to do on the project, Jim-"

"Come on, a little fun will help you with your project," Kirk's eyes glinted.

She was tired, Kirk had been right about the answer and there was no reason any longer for her to stay. She stood, slipping the data pads into her bag as she did so.

"It is getting late. I think I shall return to my room. We have early class tomorrow," she looked pointedly at Kirk. She suspected he had no plans to attend. "I think you have your answers, McCoy. Let me know if you need help writing them up for the group."

"You're really leaving? You won't come out with us?" Kirk seemed genuinely surprised his invitation had been refused. She added arrogant assumptions that others would inherently share his desire to "go out" to the list of things about him she did not like. She told herself it was a dispassionate list of a psychological observations.

"Yes. I'm really leaving."

"Is there somewhere you would rather go?" Kirk seemed pretty keen on keeping her there. She supposed it had something to do with his ego and had an irrational pleasure in disappointing him.

"You don't have to change your plans for me. Enjoy your evening. McCoy, I'll see you tomorrow."

Kirk watched her incredulously as she exited the room. There was something strangely satisfying about it. Undermining his expectations. As the door closed she could hear McCoy talking rapidly, and a couple aborted replies from Kirk. In the hall outside two girls were waiting, no doubt, for Kirk to reemerge from his room. She knew their names. Both were dressed to go out in the city, in short dresses with shiny bangles on their wrists.

"You can probably go in." Christine said to them.

"Oh no. James was really clear his roommate would have a fit if we went inside," one of the girls said. Christine wondered if they were students. She had never seen them before. The idea that Kirk would get girls from the city and bring them here, to the Academy, was disproportionately irritating.

Years later she would remember that night. It was the last time she had talked to James Kirk before he was the Captain. Before he was a hero. Before he was connected in her mind with anyone except McCoy, and that connection to McCoy tenuous at best, a friendship she did not fully understand. When James Kirk was just a solo, womanizing presence rubbing like an irritant against her existence.

Walking back to her room her thoughts turned, as they inevitably did when she was alone, to professor Spock. It would irritate Spock to have a student like Kirk. She crinkled her brow. Though she had cultivated an understanding of Spock and was pleased to think she could anticipate his reactions, she found she could not imagine a conversation between him and Kirk. They seemed to inhabit different spheres, like planets rotating around different suns.

The first time she saw them interact was at Kirk's disciplinary hearing. She thought it strangely appropriate. Kirk had somehow hacked the simulator—programmed by Spock—and won that unbeatable Kobayashi Maru scenario they subjected everyone on the command track too. In the weeks leading up to the hearing everyone talked about it. Alice admired Kirk's skills and made sure everyone knew it. Bill tried to figure out how Kirk had broken the codes, and was a constant mess because of his failure to do so (and Kirk's refusal to tell him how to do it). Overall there was consensus it was a creative solution and mostly respect for the cadet who had carried it out—but undergirding it all the slight current of a disapproval not untouched by resentment.

Then the hearing was interrupted when the attacks happened, the fleet was mobilized and she was being sent up in a starship.

"Christine," McCoy grabbed her arm. Around them cadets hastened to their new posts, new duties, new lives. It was exciting and nerve wracking all at once. "Where did you get assigned?"

"The Farragut," she said, telling herself she was pleased that she had been assigned such a fine ship not upset that he would be going on the other one, the flagship one, that stood shiny and new and state-of-the-art in the hanger bay. Of course she was not quite good enough to be assigned to that ship, her marks, though respectable, were nothing extraordinary and she was not distinguished in the way that brought assignments to flagships.

"How would you like to switch to the Enterprise?"

Christine blinked. "What?"

"The Enterprise. They have me on there, the nurses are decent but I would rather work with you. I think I could work the switch. So, how about it? Like a switch?"

 _Absolutely thank you I can't believe this_. "Yes."

When the other ships in the fleet were all destroyed, she knew that by switching her to the Enterprise McCoy had saved her life. She caught him looking at her, once, after they had survived the attack at Vulcan, and she said only, "Thank you."

That Vulcan was destroyed she could not believe it. The implications of it were too enormous. She wanted to go to Spock, to be with him and support him. But of course he did not want, need or expect that of her. He probably did not even know she had been assigned to the Enterprise. But she looked for him and thought about him and hoped somehow her thoughts would help, though it was illogical to think they would.

"What's happening?" She asked McCoy, when he entered grimly into the sickbay after being somewhere – on deck, talking with the command team, tracking down crewmembers. At some point he had become part of the command team on this ship and she was happy for him but it was difficult not having him here.

"Spock's stepped down. Jim's in charge now. Seems the pointy-eared professor was feeling emotionally compromised."

"How is that possible?"

"Jim provoked him, got himself beat up, then got himself promoted to Captain."

There was something awed in McCoy's voice. Whatever Kirk had done to provoke Spock must have been extreme. And at this time, after all that had happened to him. Her pulse quickened and a pressure built behind her eyes, and it took her a moment to tell what it was: anger. As they worked she learned more of the story from McCoy, how Jim had appeared on the bridge, how he had confronted Spock, gotten himself punched in front of everybody. How Spock had snapped when Jim mentioned his mother. Christine didn't like to be angry, she tried not to get angry, but every new detail made her anger towards their new acting captain grow.

She had not been present when the fight occurred, but she could not believe that Spock was actually _emotionally compromised_ enough not to be the best pick for captain, now Pike was captured, and certainly not enough that stepping down and handing command over to a reckless cadet who just hours before had been jettisoned from the ship was a good idea. And what exactly was he doing back anyway? But the important thing, the thing she kept coming back too, was that now Spock had given up command of the ship he was alone. And he no longer had anything to think about except one thing.

When the injured were stable enough and she could no longer work through the pressure behind her eyes, she left sickbay. McCoy watched her go but he did not say anything, for which she was grateful.

She found Spock on the observation deck. He was looking out at the stars, strangely peaceful after the chaos of the last couple of days. But of course Spock could not be feeling peaceful right now. Though it was illogical her heart felt heavy, an ache that though she knew it to be psychological still felt as real as lead in her chest. Christine wanted to talk with him. She wanted to touch him, to wrap her arms around him and offer that comfort she could. But there were so many reasons she couldn't do that. Firstly, he wasn't alone. With him was Uhura. She was talking.

Her feet were carrying her forward and it was inappropriate to interrupt but nothing about this situation was appropriate. So she stopped four feet back, and waited for a pause in Uhura's soft speech. Uhura noticed her first and smiled, giving a soft greeting.

"Professor Spock," Christine said. He looked up, seeing her but not. She was both sorry and happy she was there, unsure what to say but needing to say something. "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine what it must be like, and you should know, we are all here for you. I am here for you."

Spock said nothing, just continued looking out at the stars. It was Uhura that said, "Thank you."

"McCoy told me what happened, on the bridge. There is no doubt in my mind that you are the superior choice for Captain."

Now Spock did look at her. She thought she saw thankfulness in the slight creasing of his eyebrows, though it was possible she was projecting. He certainly looked strained, and tired, and there were still hairs out of place, physical evidence of his recent distress. Of his ongoing distress. Her anger at Kirk surged. Spock deserved their support right now, not to be the target of vicious power struggles.

There was so much more she might have said. But instead, she left. She went to her room, and tried to mediate before her next shift.

She was surprised when their "Captain" had not gotten them all killed. It seemed they had saved the Earth from suffering the same fate as Vulcan. This was obviously a good thing, so when she attended the ceremony where Kirk was commended she was able to feel whatever else, he deserved some commendation. She felt altruistic. She had not seen the heroism spoken of, but she suspected Spock had as much or more to do with their survival than Kirk.

She was surprised when the cadets were given the ship, the shiny flagship Enterprise, after the battle. She thought it should have been Spock who was given the command golds. But in the following months she took to calling Kirk the Captain in her mind, though there was occasionally still a bit of distain in the title. The first couple weeks passed in the shining halo of shared success. But it soon became clear there was tension in the command chain. Not hostility. But tension. She heard about the arguments. There was talk among the crew—Spock questioning and calculating the chances of the Captains plans. Once the Captain had left a meeting, she heard, because he was so annoyed at Spock. Well. She was sure Spock was right all those times, and mostly credited him with keeping them all alive.

The tension between the command team bled over into the crew. Christine herself has a chance to observe the problems herself, the couple of times she was on the bridge. Spock would point out in smooth cool tones the low probabilities of success and flaws in plans, often while not even looking up from his counsel, and the Captain would get the look of a kicked puppy. Nevertheless he seemed to have an almost masochistic habit of asking Spock's opinion about most major bridge decisions. It was a dynamic that could be painful to watch. She heard Sulu and Chekov complaining about more than once.

"It's like they are in the midst of a messy divorce," Sulu said once. "And we're the children being asked to chose who we love more."

She could not believe Spock though a Vulcan could forget the usurpation, that he should be Captain. Vulcans did not show their emotions, but she had read they might have resentment run deep, and after all Spock was half human and living among humans. It would be only natural for him to be angry, even if on the surface he fulfilled his duties as first officer.

Though the Captain seemed to expect something more.

"He's driving me mental," the Captain said, two months in, on a non-health related visit to sickbay to talk with McCoy. He made these visits occasionally, and when he did she knew something was serious was on his mind—it was almost always Spock. Christine would remove herself from the room and let the Captain vent to his friend. But that did not mean she did not listen. "You would think he couldn't do anything without performing thirteen separate calculations. I don't even know how someone can _live_ like that."

The sound of crashing from the other room suggested the Captain had knocked something off the table.

McCoy's voice was heavy with a sigh. "Now Jim, don't go taking it out on the equipment."

"It's that he doesn't trust me. That's what it is."

"Well, have you given him reasons to trust you?"

"My plans work! He knows they work."

"But he's right that most of the time they probably shouldn't. Hey, don't look at me like that—you want me to lie to you? Look, Jim, I get you are frustrated and I would be too with some of the things he says. But I think you need to take this up with him, not come make a mess of sickbay."

"I can't have him keep undermining me. And it's not just about me, it's bad for the crew. They have to be confident in their Captain," the Captain's voice went quiet. "And it doesn't make any sense. It doesn't make sense that he makes me feel, inadequate, so often."

"If he's hurting your feelings, Jim, at least you can be certain he doesn't mean too. He's probably just not aware of the feelings of us lesser beings. Not being burdened by them himself."

"He does feel, Bones," Where before his voice had been angry now it was laced with weariness.

"How can you be so sure?"

There was a silence in which Christine glanced into the room. The Captain was standing facing towards her, his back to McCoy, but she could see his face and she would remember it later—his brow crinkled, looking like a man many years older, shoulders bent like there was a weight on his back.

"I'm sure. He just deals with them differently than us. And I can't get him to feel right about me, no matter what I do."

"You can't control other people, Jim."

A week later she was actually part of a similar conversation, when she found herself sitting with Uhura and Spock in the dining hall. There had been a whole group at the table but slowly they had all left, until it was just the three of them remaining. Spock was talking.

"His decisions are often so illogical as to be nearly symptomatic of a death-wish."

"That is why he needs you," Uhura said. "We all do. We need you two together to keep things around here working."

Christine found herself saying, half because she believed it and half because she wondered what Spock would say. "Some might say it is an accident Kirk is the Captain now, that it should be you."

Spock regarded her coolly. The flush crept along her skin and up her cheeks, but she did not look away.

"It was not an accident. I removed myself from command. However irregular the circumstances, Kirk was next in the chain of command."

"I think you would be a good Captain."

Spock was looking at her strangely now and Christine resolved to drop the topic. It was not that she did not like Kirk or thought he was doing a poor job—she had to respect the energy and commitment he brought to the position. But it was just so obvious to her that regardless of Kirk's qualities Spock would be a superior choice to Captain a ship such as the _Enterprise_.

Uhura looked between the two of them. "Be that as it may. Kirk is Captain now, and he is doing the best he can. And you know I am not president of the Jim Kirk fan club, but he is doing pretty well so far. We should be supporting him. I know more than anyone he can be irritating," Uhura smiled, reaching forward to run a finger down Spock's cheek. "But we have to admit, he's occasionally brilliant sometimes too, right?"

"More than occasionally. I would say the thing I find most irritating is that he finds it necessary at most times to minimize intelligence. He would be more appealing were he to more explicitly explain how he is deploying his capabilities."

Uhura laughed. "Appealing? Are you considering asking him on a date? Because there is definitely a line which I am most definitely at the front of."

"There is no such line. I am merely observing that his designs often only become clear in retrospect, a clearer explication in the beginning might allow others in his crew to form a clearer picture of his designs."

"You kind of just said you're angry because you don't always understand his plans until later. Maybe you are upset his brain might be as big as yours?"

"If you are suggesting this has anything to do with jealousy . . ."

"I am not suggesting anything. Just translating a bit from Vulcan-speak."

"I am speaking standard."

"I didn't mean literally."

Christine had left this conversation with a feeling that Spock was right, and Uhura wrong. That the Captain should be explaining himself more fully, should be more careful about his plans and directions. And also that Uhura should be more supportive of Spock and less apt to challenge him.

Three months in and Christine heard mumblings—well, McCoy talking about—the Captain and Spock assigning themselves to different shifts on the bridge. Christine might have said she had known this would happen. James Kirk and Spock were just too different. She began to think about transferring to a different ship when Spock made his inevitable change. It seemed only a matter of time.

Spock didn't have to be here. With his skills, his experience, his background, he could have his own ship. He should have his own ship. Christine wanted to see him move up through command and though she had developed a grudging respect for the Captain and would certainly miss McCoy, she was planning on putting in a request to transfer when Spock did get that new ship. She was looking forward to it.

Then came the first away mission to go horribly wrong.

"What the hell happened down there? Tell me how this happened!" McCoy was yelling, as they rolled a badly bleeding Captain into sickbay. He had ballistics wounds in his arm and chest, and was losing blood rapidly.

Christine worked to stop the bleeding. His side was a mess and he had long sense lost consciousness, his breaths coming in barely-there shallow pulls. Spock stood with his shirt soaked with the Captain's blood, explaining precisely and economically what had happened. How they had been attacked by a group of natives whose technology had been further advanced than they had anticipated. The projectile weapons they had employed were fast and effective. Spock's voice got softer at the end.

"Judging by the projectory, the shots were meant for me. The Captain stepped in their path."

McCoy paused for just a moment, hands red with the Captain's blood. "He saved your life. I will do everything I can to save his."

Spock nodded and left. If the situation with the Captain had not been so dire, the look on Spock's face would have made Christine follow him. But the Captain was bleeding from three different puncture wounds, and pieces of metal were still embedded deep in the organs of his chest. This would require surgery and concentration, and she was next to McCoy in sickbay all night.

The ship was near New Vulcan, and they had stopped in for extra supplies, and to drop off some items. Some of the Vulcans came aboard. One came to visit sickbay, and older Vulcan with a peaceful expression. She liked him immediately. He went to the Captain's bed and stood some moments, not speaking.

"You expect your Captain to make a full recovery?"

"Yes. We hope he will wake up soon."

"That is good."

"Spock?" the Captain's voice came from behind them, tired, she might have said plaintive.

"He is not here, Captain, but I can send for him. I am sure will be pleased to know you have woken." She moved towards the communicator but the elderly Vulcan stopped her.

"It is alright, nurse. I believe he wishes to speak with me."

"Commander Spock is our first officer."

"I am well aware of that," the hand on her own was warm, and serene eyes regarded her with a depth of kindness that embodied everything she most admired about Vulcans. "You see, I am Spock as well."

She might have thought he was joking. But Vulcans don't joke. "How is that possible?"

"He is Spock. But not the Spock on this ship. A different one. A better one." The Captain said. He sounded like he was still in considerable pain, though the drugs should not yet have worn off. Christine stood still for a moment, looking between the young man on the bed and the elderly Vulcan.

"It is all quite complicated. But suffice it to say I am indeed an older version of your own first officer."

"I need to talk to him," the Captain said. Vulcan that was also Spock but not Spock? Time travel? Or parallel dimensions, like the one from which Nero had emerged? Probably, but this was clearly not something which concerned her. So Christine nodded and left the room. But she kept listening as she moved about sickbay. "I wanted you, and you are here."

"Of course, Jim. I will always come when you need me."

Like the tone of voice the Vulcan had used when he addressed her it was kind, but there was much more heaviness and familiarity in it as well. Christine wanted to know more about this older Spock, where he had come from and why he was here to see the Captain. But she could not ask. Instead she began preparing some pain medication for the Captain. And she listened.

"You are sure this is what you want?"

"I stepped in front of bullets for him, and he doesn't even like me."

"Jim, I can assure you-"

"Don't, please. I can't handle any of that right now. Just, take it back. I cannot live with—two of you, in my head. You know, the other day when we were on the bridge, I almost put my hand on his shoulder? I almost reached out and made contact with his skin. We don't do that. It's not a thing that we do. He would have freaked out. I need you to take it back, or I am going to do something ridiculous like that."

"You are both so young. I hope you can forgive him one day."

Though Christine did not know precisely what she heard that day in sickbay, afterwards there was a definite shift in the Captain. He became even more confident. Well, he had been plenty confident before, but this was even further internalized. And he was less inclined to puppy dog around Spock.

There seemed to be a shift in Spock as well. His eyes more often had that thoughtful expression she had seen come over him in sickbay, when he had stood coated in the Captain's blood. The tension between the two eased, and the crew relaxed.

Christine watched them. She imagined she could see a careful caution beneath the Captain's friendly smiles, beneath Spock's smooth expressions. There was definitely something unspoken there. Like they were sizing each other up, thoughtfully, as though each were plotting some action and wary lest they misjudge the other's response. She thought at first there might be another physical fight. But it seemed to channel into sparring — both verbal and physical.

She was there once, two months after the Captain had been shot, when he had correctly identified the cause of some malfunction in the air ducts that had been bothering Spock for a week and been causing an irritating smell and the occasional burst of purple spores.

"It seems you were correct, Captain," Spock said, dusting the purple dust from his hands. It turned out to be from some spores they had picked up a few planets back, which had grown into clusters of round, fuzzy looking plants lodged in the upper corners of the air ducts.

"I was what, Spock?" The Captain was grinning.

"You were correct," Spock said again. And then, "Perhaps you should consider having Doctor McCoy check your hearing?"

"Oh I think I will be fine, after hearing you say that a couple of times. You can get them out?"

"They will be gone by tomorrow."

"Fantastic. And Spock," the Captain had placed a hand on Spock's shoulder, which Spock could not have liked, and was smiling that too cocky smile. "Next time, feel free to bring the problem to me sooner. Let me help you out."

"It is not your job to help me out. I shall endeavor to keep any similar problems from inconveniencing you."

And then Spock had sneezed, the Captain had overreacted (Christine suspected he was exaggerating on purpose), and sat with Spock making jokes about Vulcan sensitivity to purple pollen as McCoy had run his scans and Christine had checked the tests. Spock was having a reaction to the spores, but it was nothing more than a minor allergy. Though there was something too sharp in the Captain's concern, almost invasive in the way he touched Spock's arm and invaded his space.

It was a relatively little thing, but Christine remembered it. It and the joking and the tone between the two—it was a shift, and she didn't know it then but what she was seeing was not an oscillation but a linear progression.

At some point they began to spend time together when they were off shift. Eat together in the mess hall, walk through the halls, talking quietly. This was such a change from their prior behavior that the entire crew felt it. Moral improved. They had successful diplomatic missions, successful transport missions, successful first contact missions. She began to be proud to be on the ship, to be part of the crew, enjoyed the reactions when she told others her ship's name and they said oh, you mean _that_ Enterprise, the one with the famous Captain, the young captain, the handsome captain? The one with the Vulcan first officer?

The tension had not gone. Spock would occasionally second guess the Captain, but the Captain's vent sessions with McCoy had dwindled. Spock's relationship with Uhura remained, though Christine thought she started to see some frissons in that connection. The time that Spock began to spend with the Captain seemed to be borrowed from time he used to spend with Uhura.

Christine could not help thinking perhaps the cooling between Spoke and Uhura meant she still had a chance. Her romantic attachment to Spock had not diminished. Even after nearly two years serving together, she had not lost the increased heart rate when he entered a room. Every time they spoke she felt happier. It was like his voice was a warm soothing blanket wrapping around her.

She didn't say anything, because he would not want her too. It would make him uncomfortable to be subjected to her confession, and that was reason enough to stay silent. He was with Uhura, and while that was true she had no chance.

Then Spock almost died at Nibiru.

Christine had not known anything about the plan until they brought him into the sickbay with a burned thermal suit, fingers both burned and frozen and clearly merely seconds away from something much worse. And she was sure, a part of her was sure that Spock's injuries had to be the Captain's fault.

The tears at the edges of her eyes were natural, as she tended him, stripping off the suit, taking readings and healing the skin where the rips in the suit had seared his skin. She was sneaking the slightest of touches, not to skin because that would cause him discomfort but to edges of fabric, a hand on the warm table where he had lain, and she had to take the touches because they made the burning behind her eyes just a little bit better. She had long sense ceased to worry they might be inappropriate, unprofessional, they were just how things were and it would not hurt anything of no one noticed, even if McCoy occasionally gave her a too-knowing look.

Then Uhura came in. And Uhura looked angry.

What followed was a cool not-fight conducted in Vulcan, a language of which Christine had only gained rudimentary control even after many years of clandestine studying, for though she could memorize peptides and medicines quickly her skill for language was less innate. So she listened to the unfamiliar sounds, and though the jealousy was familiar it still brought a blush to her cheeks.

Then Uhura swept out. Spock stood, signaling with a hand palm out in her direction that her help was not needed and with a slight nod at her that she would not analyze repeatedly that evening, left.

"Wonder what that pointy eared hobgoblin has done now," McCoy said from beside her, and she jumped. McCoy smiled at her a bit too apologetically, and she attempted to expunge any inadvertent emotions from her features. "He may be a scientific genius or something, but he is still crap at understanding other people have feelings."

"He understands feelings, he just deals with them differently than us."

McCoy shot her a sidelong glance, and she realized she had echoed words the Captain had used once. "He nearly died, and doesn't seem to care that it might have an effect on other people."

"I am glad he is not dead," Christine said. "That should be enough for anyone."

McCoy looked at her for a long moment. Then he grunted and shifted his grip on the hypo in his hand, holding it with a new determination.

"Well, as long as that's settled, I have a Captain to track down."

Christine poked at her dinner in the mess hall. Everyone was tense with this new mission, the torpedoes in their hanger and this unpredictable terrorist. She was eating with Alice and Terri, two engineers with hair pulled back and grease on their uniforms. They had been on the ship from the beginning and Christine liked them. The three of them watched Spock and Uhura pass by, hardly acknowledging the other.

"They hardly ever eat together anymore. And you know Nyota isn't one to talk about it, but you can tell she is hurting. Do you think they broke up?" Terri said.

The doors had opened to admit the Captain, who was standing now talking to Spock near the entryway. Alice eyed the pair of them. "Though I know the Commander's attractive, I never really saw the appeal. He's too cold."

"I suppose there are others on the ship more to your taste," Terri said.

Alice looked down at her plate, moving a replicated green glob around with her fork. There must have been something wrong with the replicator, collard greens should never look like that.

"Remember how he dealt with the delegation back on Trilon IV?"

"And the way he resolved that colony dispute? It may have prevented a war."

"Commander Spock was the one who concluded those negotiations," Christine couldn't help but say. "Without him, we certainly would have been unable to decode the delivery location and the alliance would have been impossible."

"That's true, though it was the Captain that did all the talking. I thought they were all half in love with him by the end. That certainly made a difference."

Christine knew most women on the ship were a little bit in love with their Captain. And Christine understood, she really did, the draw, so young and bold and brave, so willing to risk himself and brilliant in that way that made impossible plans become possible then reality with moments to spare. He was handsome too, the blue eyes and sandy blond hair and especially the smile that promised so much if only you could dig beneath that cocky exterior. Some women loved that stuff.

She could understand the other women and their obsession with a perhaps-one-day fated romance. Though it must be exhausting to hold such views of a man who was bound to give any partner constant cause for concern, both as to his fabled infidelity and his propensity for putting himself in life-threatening situations practically weekly.

At some point the new science officer Carol Wallace had come in and she was talking now with the Captain. Christine watched Spock, who was now watching the Captain with a contemplative expression. She might have said resentful. Though that was probably her projecting again. Wallace's sudden chumminess with the command team (particularly the Captain) had not made her popular with the other women on board, and Christine listened as the talk turned to the Captain's rumored sexual adventures, fabled throughout the ship though confirmable by few. Christine thought how different Spock was. He had been faithful to Uhura for over two years. They had been a couple, in a long term relationship, under difficult circumstances.

Christine supposed she should have wondered why Spock and Uhura broke up, but that hardly mattered next to the fact that Spock had proven through this multi-year relationship not only the capacity but the desire to be in a relationship with a human.

Christine talked to Uhura. They had never been friends, but they were friendly enough Christine felt alright mentioning, one day when Uhura was in sickbay for a minor pulled muscle.

"You could have had the Commander look at this," Christine said, carefully neutral.

"I prefer speaking with you. Spock and I are no longer together." Uhura rotated her shoulder, smiling grimly at the restored range of motion. It was an opening. And it was now or never.

"Would you be resentful if he began a relationship with another crew member?" Christine asked.

Uhura was silent for a long moment. Her eyes shone with too much understanding. But that was fine. If things went according to plan everyone would know, and she had wanted to speak with Uhura first. Christine kept her expression carefully calm.

"If he finds happiness with someone on this ship, I would not begrudge him that," she pressed her lips into a thin line. "But I do not wish to see it paraded in front of me. Nor do I wish to see him pining for something he cannot have."

Christine nodded and pondered these words. Of course she would not want to see Spock with someone else so soon, and it must have been painful to watch him pining for the home world he had lost. That much pain might be too much for some women to handle.

"I do not think Spock is in a stable condition at the moment. Things have been difficult for him, and he is feeling confused. Don't ask too much of him."

Christine nodded and finished the procedure in silence. There was no doubt Uhura understood Spock, but Christine thought she might be able to adapt to Spock better. And she was going to try. She would try to make Spock fall in love with her.

In the next few days she was able to speak with Spock exactly nine times - three lunches, two meetings in the hall, once in the recreation rooms, twice on the science deck, and once when he accompanied the Captain to sickbay after lunch. They were nearly at Qo'nos and tensions were already high, to which Christine attributed the tension in Spock as he stood beside the Captain's bed.

"I feel like shit, Bones."

"No wonder, you're burning up." McCoy's brows had crinkled together as he ran the Captain's tests.

"Spock stop staring at me—yes, it started this afternoon," the Captain started explaining his laundry list of unpleasant symptoms, and Spock turned away.

"How are you doing?" Christine asked him.

"I am recovered from recent events," a pause. "Though I believe the Captain is still upset with me for reporting on our mission at Nibiru."

They had talked about this, briefly, when they had met in the science deck. Spock had been unusually communicative at the time, and Christine had felt the thrill of a wall crumbling to be admitted into such confidences. She felt the thrill again here.

"You were right to include all details in your report. It was your duty."

In the background McCoy poked at the strange rash that had broken out over the Captain's arm, muttering under his breath about crazy Captains and their uncooperative immune systems. Spock did not speak immediately, and when he did it was to change the subject.

"How are you progressing on your paper, Chapel?"

"I am nearly halfway complete." She was pleased he had remembered. When they had met on the science deck she told him of her research. She had been looking at some of the Earth plants, drawing samples. "The suggestions you had made on how to read and store the sequences have been very helpful. Did you mean it when you said you would read and offer comments?"

"It would be my pleasure."

Spock's eyes had returned to the Captain, who was protesting a hypo McCoy had produced - what are you doing, trying to make this thing worse? - pushing against the doctor's hands. Sometime during the examination the Captain had removed his shirt, and Christine could see the angry red dots were running down his neck, fanning across his admittedly well-formed chest in what looked to be painful welts. Spock had noticed it too, and the corners of his lips had come down in a frown, halfway between concern and concentration.

Then, even as they watched that the Captain's face went white and he toppled backwards onto the bed. Spock was at his side in an instant, holding him steady as McCoy quickly checked vitals and took some of the Captain's blood.

"Christine, check this please," he handed her the blood. She caught a glimpse of Spock's intent face, fixed on the Captain, running over his face, neck, arms, chest, as though searching there for the answer to this sudden collapse. Of course it would irk a scientist like Spock to come in with his Captain for a rash only to see the man topple over like he was felled by some serious fever.

As McCoy and Spock worked to revive the Captain, Christine looked at the results for his blood. Her eyes widened. She knew what was wrong. She prepared the hypo and rushed over, shouldering herself between the two men and pressing the hypo to the Captain's neck. She jerked once and she felt Spock beside her surge with tension, but then the Captain coughed and opened his eyes, too blue, and squinted up at them.

"What the hell was that?"

"Have you been eating collard greens?"

The Captain stared at her blankly. It was an unusual enough look on his face, and never as of yet directed at her, that she couldn't help but smile slightly.

"How about it, Jim?" McCoy said gruffly, forcing something around the Captain's arm. "Been eating collard greens?"

"I think I had some yesterday."

Christine nodded. "The reaction wasn't due to the hypo at all, but to a reaction to a certain type of replicator glitch that makes some proteins more difficult to digest. You had an, extreme reaction, more extreme that I have ever seen. But you should be feeling better in an hour or so."

The Captain made to stand up, and McCoy restrained him with a hand on his arm. "She said an hour, Jim. At least wait ten minutes."

The Captain scowled and leaned back against the bed. He looked down at his chest, and sure enough the welts were fading. He looked up towards her and there was real gratefulness in his eyes. Christine felt a surge of pride.

"How did you know what was wrong?" he asked. She glanced at Spock.

"It relates to a paper I am writing. The Commander has been helping me."

The Captain broke into a grin, and Spock hissed in a breath beside her. She hoped she had not overstepped her bounds by including him in the attribution. It was true he had done little more than talk with her, yet, about the topic, but his comments had been helpful and she fully intended to ask him to review a draft.

The Captain shifted on the bed. She guessed he would attempt to get up again soon, even though it had only been five of his ten minute. Never mind her past hope for an hour.

"Then I should thank Spock as well," the Captain said.

There was something too sharp about his look as he turned to Spock. Christine thought it was not fair, that Spock would be uncomfortable being the target of such open attention. And she was right. A slight green tinge touched the top of his cheeks.

"I have done little, Captain," Spock sounded almost annoyed about it. She resolved to be extra solicitous of his opinion while he reviewed her paper. She hoped that would make him feel better.

When she walked back to the table to place down the hypo she felt a hand on her arm, hot. It was Spock. This was the first time he had ever reached out to touch her volitionally, and she felt the excitement of his touch thrumming through her.

"Yes, Commander?"

They were standing close, McCoy's protests about engineers and their captain-poisoning replicators humming behind them. Spock's eyes were on her, a light green flush on his cheeks, and she might have thought that with the heat of his hand suggested a fever if she did not know that Vulcans generally ran warmer than humans. They were out of sight of the rest of the room. Standing close. She could see individual strands of dark hair, the slight tint of green veins beneath his skin. It could happen, here. She leaned forward just slightly.

"Thank you," he said.

That was all. No further touch, though when he removed his hand her skin burned and she could have sworn there was a feel of arousal which passed between them at his touch, heady and almost animalistic. She spent the next few days reading anything she could find on Vulcan sexual arousal, feeling a little silly about it but liking everything she read. Slight flush. Possible to sense through touch. Difficulty with focus, sudden uncharacteristic seeking of skin-to-skin contact. She imagined she had seen all the signs and was going to bed happy every night.

She had impressed with her intellect—the way, she was sure, to Spock's heart. Had proven helpful and logical in a crisis. In addition to the signs of arousal she had seen something in Spock's face that day. Something deeper, more personal. It was like she could see him pushing down the emotions before her eyes. The slight increase in breath and dilation of eyes was like seeing another person break into effusions of gratitude, stress, or love.

She thought she had made a breakthrough that day. A few more talks, and she would ask Spock to eat dinner with her. Then she would ask whether he might be interested in pursuing a relationship of a romantic nature.

But first Kahn attacked.

And the Captain died.

And everything flipped upside down.


	2. Chapter 2

To the bulk of the crew beyond the select few of the inner circle, it was almost-died, but to Christine, it was died. Dead. Passed on. She knew dead when she saw it, and she knew their Captain had been tragically dead at a young age after saving all their lives and she might have cried a little. Okay, a lot, but it was alone, in her room, and at least part of the tears had been for _him_ because when he carried the Captain in his arms not to the sickbay but to the morgue, he looked positively . . . emotionally compromised.

Then the Captain had come back from the dead, courtesy of some insane guy's blood and frantic work by the doctor and all medical staff to make this workdammitrightnow, and when the Captain's vitals moved from dead to barely alive to sleeping then finally awake, she had been the one to stop in the doorway, and Spock had been the one in the room.

And his hand had been curled around the Captain's neck, and Spock was looking, staring, drinking in the Captain's face, and their chests were moving with breaths the Captain never should have been able to take. A hand moved up to clasp Spock's wrist. The Captain would push Spock away with a laugh and it would be okay, the longing in Spock's gaze was okay because his friend had just come back from the dead and that would have an effect on anyone, Vulcan or no.

But the Captain did not push him away. Instead the Captain's grip on Spock's wrist tightened, the muscles in his hand tensing as he met Spock's gaze, eyes gleaming not with laughter but with a question. She stood silent, hardly daring to breathe lest she push in any direction this moment. It was Spock that moved forward and brought their lips together, but it was the Captain's finger's that carded through his first officer's dark hair.

Christine stood still, shocked. She tried to remember what pressing lips meant in Vulcan culture. It was not a kiss, that much she knew. But Spock was half human, and the way his body arched toward the Captain, the way he deepened the kiss, pulling them together such that Christine was worried the Captain would be unable to breath, told her this was much more than I am glad you are alive, or welcome back to a friend.

There was nothing she could do. She had turned and left, the familiar hallways somehow transformed, tighter, more claustrophobic. And when she brought the Captain his food half an hour later, Spock was gone.

"Welcome back, Captain." She placed the food on his side table.

He licked his lips. Lips Spock had recently kissed. The hair was the nap of his neck was tousled. Because Spock had dug his fingers in there. Christine swallowed.

"Thank you."

If someone had asked, she would have said she was not following them. She just made sure her work took them to the places they would be, the mess halls and hallways and meeting rooms. She observed.

She observed the way Spock watched the Captain eat, laugh, talk, smile, move, breath, exist, always with that intensity that now she realized he used for no one else. There was the way he shifted when others came, a slight movement of torso and shoulders that wanted to put himself between the newcomer and his Captain, and the way he pulled back after a few moments, the way he might look down at his plate.

And she was not the only one. Many of the new recruits, taken on since the fight with Kahn, watched the command team as well, for different purposes. Ambition. Hero-worship. Imitation. Many of the female ensigns were already smitten with the Captain. Christine found herself having many conversations with new arrivals on the topic. She suspected Alice had sent them to her, to dissuade them from their interest. Christine knew she had a reputation for being logical in areas of romance.

But Christine watched them for different reasons. And she noticed a routine. First one night a week, then eventually three, Spock and the Captain would leave the mess hall together.

"Where are they going?" She asked McCoy. Her voice was smooth and disinterested, she was sure.

At their table sat also a couple of ensigns who were watching them with curious eyes. Whenever any of the old timers spoke of the command team, the new recruits quieted and strained to listen. And when McCoy talked of the Captain there was silence. Everyone knew they had been roommates at the academy. Christine knew the attention occasionally irked him, but that he also didn't exactly mind all the young women who seemed to inexplicitly come to seek out his company.

McCoy stilled the sandwich halfway to his lips and his eyes followed the pair, backs beneath command gold and science blue, leaving the mess, the Captain laughing at something, one of Spock's not-jokes she remembered from class or just manifesting again that joie de vivre that she found so exhausting but could appreciate from a distance.

"Chess, probably," he took a bite again. It was not the answer she had been expecting.

"What do you mean?" She watched as the Captain touched Stock's sleeve, and, she observed with her increased attention lingered a few moments longer than necessary. "They are playing Chess?"

She wondered if this was some kind of euphemism.

"Yes. Spock's got one of those boards for three dimensional chess. They would play sometimes, before Jim, ah . . . almost died," McCoy threw the word out definitely, calling to her memory both the cool calm with which he had examined his dead friend, and his fevered frenzy as they worked to synthesize a serum to reverse the irreversible, and there beneath the words there was something of the doctor's appreciation for having defeated that final frontier. "They have started playing more ever sense Jim became undead. Why are you so interested?"

The last question was said to the sandwich, almost as though he did not really care about the answer.

"Until recently, I had thought they didn't really get along. I mean, I didn't think they were . . . friends."

McCoy's shoulder's loosened, slightly. Though his words were relaxed enough, she thought he was looking more tense than usual.

"Nah, they have been friendly for ages now. I can hardly see Jim anymore without that pointy-eared hobgoblin hovering around. You know, he even comes to Jim's physicals? And then Spock hunted Kahn down to get that cure."

"I had thought that was a team mission?" One of the ensigns said. Christine recalled her name was Tamara, and she had an earnest face and round dark eyes that made her seem to soak up her surroundings. She was in security and clearly ambitious.

"It was a team mission, if you count Spock doing most of the work, then Uhura beaming down to help at the last minute a "team" mission. Mostly he was running through the streets on his own, planning to track down and beat up a super-human with magical healing blood. Not his most logical plan."

"That does seem to break a number of protocols," Tamara said. McCoy shrugged.

"You will find that's par for the course around here. Don't tell command."

Christine started to observe patterns and she could not help but draw conclusions. The Captain made Spock act illogical. Not just when provoked or in specific circumstances, but frequently and systematically. This was a fact she was beginning to incorporate into her understanding of the world, but it was still unsettling, like someone had told her the proteins in her body could be reshaped if she just concentrated hard enough.

She continued to watch them. They rarely did anything that would be outside the bounds of friendship. She did not know what happened when they played chess, but she overheard enough talk of checkmates and discussion of moves to realize they actually were playing. Unless they were engaged in a particularly elaborate pretense.

Then one day she found them standing side by side on the observation deck. Again, not touching, but standing very close. She was too far to catch their words, but Spock was speaking. When Spock reached out a hand to touch the Captain, going not for the cloth covered shoulder but his bare lower arm, her eyes widened, as though seeking to pull in more light, as the Captain's hands came up to bunch in Spock's sleeve, tightening. They were talking low. She was hardly breathing when Spock leaned forward and tentatively brushed his lips against the Captain's. They stood still for a moment, the stars still visible between them. The Captain might have pushed Spock away but instead his fingers dug into Spock's upper arms, pulling them together. Christine heard the faintest of Vulcan sighs as they pressed together.

This was not like in the hospital bed, the quick passion abruptly cut short. This time she saw the Captain pull back, taking a breath and saying something a low voice of which Christine caught only _confused_ and _sex_ and _death_. Then the Captain stepped back, and though Spock maintained an outward calm to Christine, used to watching him, it was clearly difficult for him not to step forward, difficult not to pursue the contact, not to continue the kiss. She knew with his greater physical strength, he could have held on. He was forcing himself to let the Captain go.

It was strange, requiring a cognitive shift in the tectonic plates of her mind. There was the fact they were both men. But somehow that was the least of it. It was the fact they were so different, the fact that the Captain's choices time and time again were directly contradictory to what Spock would have wanted, should have wanted, would have done himself. She had thought they had reached a détente, a sort of mutual understanding. But she hardly would have expected such an arrangement to lead to kissing in hospital beds and confessions on the observation deck. Whatever was going on between them was confusing and unexpected and illogical, and if she had not seen it she would have never believed it possible.

But it was clear, a fact she could identify just as easily and with a similar sinking impression of a patient beyond resuscitation. She could not deny what she had seen. Therefore it was not only possible but a truth in the world. And she had no notion of how she might compete with James Kirk.

"The Sycurians expect visitors to come in pair bonds," Uhura was saying. Christine was one of eight in the room—the Captain, McCoy, Sulu and Spock. "They will expect male and female bond partners."

Christine carefully did not look at Spock. But she did look at the Captain, and he had pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at this pronouncement.

"If this negotiation is going to be a success, we shall have to conform to this ritual," Uhura concluded.

"What if we told them their expectation was a bit antiquated?" The Captain said.

"They would probably not take well to being informed by a group of alien visitors that their traditions are unacceptable."

"This is your professional opinion, as a communications officer?"

"This is my sensible opinion, as a sentient life form, Captain."

"Alright then," the Captain turned to the table. "Let's pair up, people. Uhura, you're with Sulu. Marcus, you're with me. Tamara, you're with McCoy. And Chapel, you will go with Spock. We leave tomorrow at 0800, so get some sleep."

The room cleared quickly and efficiently. Christine would have been out quickly as well if McCoy had not grabbed her arm. McCoy then called the Captain—Jim—and it was the three of them left in the conference room. The Captain looked a bit tired, bags under his eyes and his golden hair looking just the slightest bit too shaggy. Though she had still seen Tamara glance at him as she left. It was clear she appreciated his appearance.

"What's the matter, Bones? You don't like your date?"

Just the three of them. Christine was reminded of that time at the Academy, when she had been alone with McCoy and the Captain. It was a strange flash back, here in the dimmed light of the conference room. Instead of the deference he might have shown on the bridge—appearances for the crew, and all that—McCoy just rolled his eyes.

"Jim, please switch Tamara with Chapel."

"Why?" The Captain's look shifted between the two of them. "Bones, don't tell me you two are finally—"

The Captain was clearly laboring under a misapprehension about the nature of her relationship with McCoy, so Christine said quickly.

"No, Captain, we are not."

"It's not that," McCoy backed her up.

"Alright. Then convince me why it makes sense for our two medical officers to be paired together. I had hoped to spread you out."

"It just, does, okay Jim?"

The Captain's eyes narrowed. He really did look tired. There was a rumple in his command shirt and he had one hand on the table as though steadying himself, but he was watching them both with sharp, evaluating eyes. She usually interacted with the Captain when he was sick and even then he usually got his own way. Here when he was only tired he was definitely piloting the conversation.

"I shall need a bit more of an explanation than that before I call back Spock and Tamara and change my orders."

Of course she knew McCoy and the Captain were friends, had heard them talking like this before, but being the actual topic of such an informal exchange was making her uncomfortable. If they were not talking about her, she would have left. But as it was she would have to stay.

"It's fine, Doctor—"

"It's not fine, Christine, did you read through the mission brief? This thing is going to be five hours long. You are going to have to sit there, for five hours—"

"Eating food and engaging in conversation? I think Chapel is up for it, Bones," the Captain said. "And I am sure Tamara can give you some interesting conversation, you know she told me she is trained in klingon combat?"

"This isn't about me, Jim," McCoy let out an annoyed breath. "Look this doesn't have to be a big thing, I just need you to change the assignments so Christine is with me instead of Spock, it's not a big deal—"

"And I just need you to tell me why."

"Because—"

"Because?"

"Because she is in love with the pointy-eared hobgoblin!"

Christine stared at McCoy, hardly believing what she had just heard. It had been years, and he had never said anything to her about it. And now to blurt it out like this. He shot her a semi-apologetic, semi-frustrated look, the turned back to the Captain.

The Captain. Oh God, the Captain. McCoy did not know, but she knew. Turning back to the Captain was ten times, a hundred times worse, because looking into his eyes she knew, she remembered, all that she had seen over the last couple of months. Whatever the Captain's relationship was with Spock it had passed platonic a few stops back and she had no idea how the Captain might react.

"In love with Spock?" The Captain managed to say the words in a way that suggested skepticism and understanding all at once.

"I have been in love with him since I was a student at the academy." She was more grateful than ever of her work surpassing emotions, because the statement came out almost normally.

"Since you were his student? You took all his classes."

"I did. But not just because of my . . . emotions. Professor Spock was the best professor at the academy." You may have known that, if you had ever come to class, she might have added. But did not. There was no need.

This was more of a conversation than she thought. McCoy was now the one sending out discomfort waves. Good. He had put himself in this position, not talking with her first. She could feel the blood in her cheeks but also had to admit a certain excitement to be forced to have this conversation with the Captain. Because surly he would have to let, something, slip? She already imagined she could see heightened color in his cheeks, and was fairly certain if she could have taken his pulse she would have found an elevated heart rate.

"Chapel, you can tell me to stop at anytime, but I am going to ask you a few questions of this. How do you know what you are feeling is love, rather than admiration or appreciation?"

"Jim—" McCoy started, and Christine knew the doctor well enough to know he would rather be in any other conversation. "Why are you pressing her on this?"

Christine knew why. She knew why, and she would answer. "It is love, because I want him to, safe, happy, secure. And I want to do everything I can to ensure his happiness and success, both professional and personal."

"Does that mean you are you attracted to him sexually?"

"Jim!" McCoy sounded scandalized and he stepped closer to her. "Not everything is about—"

"I know that, Bones. Chapel, you don't need to answer if you don't want too, obviously, it's just that I—"

"Yes. Yes I am."

She might have added the _are you_ to the end of the answer, because it was there, hanging in the air between them. But she thought she would spare McCoy the epileptic fit that would result from such a question. Plus there was the fact the Captain was not actually aware she had observed his interactions with Spock. If it had been anyone else but Spock under discussion, she would have been reluctant, afraid word might get back to him and create awkwardness. But he would not be like that. It was almost a release, to say it out loud, even knowing what she did of the not-strictly-platonic relationship between the Captain and his first. She wondered at herself for not being more self-conscious. It was positively Vulcan of her, she thought, and repressed the pleasure that arose with that reflection.

"Sounds like love to me, Jim," McCoy said, "Now will you please stop having incredibly awkward conversations with my staff and change the assignments? Please, for me?"

But the Captain's eyes had gone thoughtful. "Have you ever spoken to him? I mean about something other than class or science? Jokes, conversations on social occasions? Birthdays, celebrating holidays?"

"I—he is Vulcan. He does not enjoy what we might call personal conversations. We have rarely had them."

"Jesus, you even sound like him," the Captain was silent then for a long minute. So long McCoy began to shift next to her.

"Well, Jim? Are you going to switch her?"

"No. I think this may be good for them," even as he spoke it was clear the Captain was warming further to his idea, even as McCoy's scowl deepened with each word, "It will give Chapel a chance to get to know our first officer. And Chapel," He turned to her, again that direct blue gaze. "It is a myth that Vulcan's do not wish to have personal conversations. Just find the right way to ask them," he clapped her on the shoulder. "You'll be able to do it."

The male and female pairs on Sycuria wore clothes in matching colors. She and Spock were in blue. McCoy and Tamara were in green, the Captain and Marcus in red, Sulu and Uhura in yellow. A veritable rainbow of a delegation.

The Sycurian's had a dry planet, most of the water underground. Pockets of civilization had sprung up as population centers, reminding Christine of the heating vents at the bottom of Earth's oceans. The cities were powered by some crystals Scotty was salivating to examine. Learning more about the Sycurian power source was one of the goals of this delegation. They were kept mainly in mountains which the Sycurians referred to as religious temples, and outsiders were rarely allowed in. Though they were not the first humans the Sycurians had seen - the planet had rudimentary warp travel, and would trade minerals occasionally with passing ships - they were among the first. Their arrival was treated as a major event and families had lined the streets to watch them.

The Sycurian's themselves were as strange as any life forms they had yet encountered. They seemed to flicker around the edges. They said they were able to form themselves into the shapes they preferred. Some were obviously better at this skill then other, and they pair that greeted them were shimmering beautifully.

The introduced themselves as Sy'rin and Sycur'alla. They were the bonded pair in charge here at the settlement, and wore rainbow shifts over pale skin. They looked almost watery, a trait shared by all Sycurian, no matter what shape they adopted. Strange for a desert planet. They escorted the delegation to a twisting structure in the center of the city, across from the temple mountain. It looked like coral growing from the seabed, reinforcing the odd sense of simultaneously being in a desert and underwater.

The walls of the structure were laid with shimmering murals, all bonded pairs in various colors, and many images of temple mountains. In the murals the mountains shown bright like stars, and the red sands were dotted with yellow and green vegetation, and even some visible bodies of water.

She said as much to Spock as they sat at a low table for dinner. Marcus sat next to her, and the Captain beside her. Across from them were Tamara and McCoy, looking glum. She might have said at least they would get the chance to talk, but Sycurians took the seat beside Tamara and McCoy, and they were both soon engaged in conversation. Somewhere down the table Sulu was sitting beside a towering Sycurian female and already laughing about something.

Though she would not show it, Tamara would have to be jealous of Marcus. Since the battle with Kahn she had clearly been preferred. She was often chosen as well for missions like this, where the Captain thought it expedient to partner himself with a woman for the sake of negotiations. Christine had never seen anything between Marcus and the Captain besides a strong friendship, but that did not stop the speculation. But when she had once spoken with Marcus about it she had just laughed and shook her head. Not my type.

"Where do you think that light come from?" Marcus asked, motioning to the gentling glowing wall. It was very faint, but there was definitely a subtle light, other than the suns from above.

"Many stones will carry light properties. I would have to examine them more closely before venturing to speculate."

Marcus's lips quirked into the smile. She leaned in, whispering confidentially and glancing at Spock. "You do sound like him."

The talk was delicate. There had been a group from the federation there before them, but they had been unsuccessful, it seemed. And then they had disappeared. It leant the whole mission a rather mysterious air. The meal was indeed, five hours. The Captain was mostly taken with taken to various Sycurians. Once he looked down at them and raised a glass, then spent the next fifteen minutes explaining the significance glass-raising, toasting, and other drink-based Earth customs to the Sycurians. After that they probably had a new toast every fifteen minutes.

Christine did speak with Spock and it was wonderful. She enjoyed their quiet conversation, even if she did think Spock was watching the Captain, and McCoy was watching her. It was still wonderful to speak to Spock for half an hour about Vulcan herbology, and to hear his theories as to the properties of the foods they were consuming. It was not until dessert, a gelatinous product that glowed a powder purple, that she suspected something was wrong. With Spock.

At first it was a slight press of feeling, an annoyance at Marcus and a sadness and a sharpened observation that made everything more clear. Later she realized those impressions had, in fact, been Spock's mental shields breaking down as the narcotics in his foods somehow broke down his mental barriers.

"Are you, alright?" She asked, and then the Captain's voice shouting and then Spock had slumped and fallen to the floor, and the table was in pandemonium.

She knelt down, scanning for signs, and the Captain was beside her,

"What the hell happened?"

"He is fine, physically."

But there was something very wrong, and when she touched his skin she felt it—a rush that should not have been possible. It was a falling and a pulling and sudden pain, all in her head. The first wave nearly made her black out.

 _The abrupt silencing of a million voices, cut off at once._

 _The skin cooling from a mother's lost embrace._

 _The bright fire of a second mind, that he must stop himself from reaching as it was fragile fluid fire that shone like the combined light of a billion candles but would turn to smoke with the briefest wind and these would be like a hurricane—_

With the thoughts came images, memories, of thoughts and sensations and she would almost say feelings except here in Spock's mind that human word was not right.

She had known, of course, that the command team faced dangers. Knew better than most the injuries they sustained, the blood and breaks of bones and the time when the Captain had actually, honestly died. But she had not known the sheer number of close calls, the number of times the Captain had saved Spock's life, the number of times they had relied on each other and the absolute trust that had spawned, there, together with everything and despite everything and now shown in Spock's mind like a fire.

 _Don't touch it. Don't hurt it, it will hurt you—_

The contracting impulses pushed through her, and it was confusing and infuriating and thrilling and these were the feelings Spock held for the Captain and they were _golden_. It was _aithlu nash-veh esthuhl_ and this Vulcan she knew among many others and it was a swirl of thought and pain, a pain that pinched and stabbed every time the Captain unthinkingly touched his skin, every time he sat too close and smiled too wide and treated other people the exact same way like the casual touches and smiles meant nothing at all to him when they meant everything in the universe—

 _Does he know? Has he seen this?_ She thought in what she tried as her strongest, more forceful but felt like a drop in a vast ocean of thought and time here and she was amazed again at the sheer scale. _Has he seen you?_

 _He can't know_. The voice was not directed at her was a general ever-present imperative that kept all this shimmering golden light beneath the surface of a cool calm exterior and it hurt but it was a pain he would have to bear, to carry. Because a human male, especially a force as white hot as KirkCaptainJimfriend could never really find fulfillment bonded to a half-breed Vulcan and he was so certain he was right that she almost felt it as the truth. That the Captain would not, could not lay claim to this connection, that he would be better, happier not to know the burning fire of such an intensely focused mind.

Almost.

But there was something else there was well, memories of a white-hot fire and scents and sensations and sounds, and her body heated with the flashes of something that Spock fought to keep from her, and the shields slammed back into place just as she heard the moan and felt the tight pull of muscles around anatomy she did not possess. She was expelled from that powerful mind, ejected with an echoing, deeply treasured _mine._

It was a moment, but in that moment she reached for the Captain's wrist, stopping him from pressing cool fingers to Spock's cheeks, from seeing everything that she had must been told, clearing told he must not see and it was half with Spock's voice she said,

"Don't, touch right now," and when he jerked defiantly she added, "It will hurt him if you touch him. He will be alright if you let me treat him."

The Captain's pulse was rapid beneath her fingers, and he looked angry, though the anger she knew would be properly channeled away from her, and she was right and he was flowing to his feet and shouting something at Uhura, then exchanging rapid words with one of their hosts, and McCoy replaced him at her side.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Something in the food reacted with the neutrons in his brain. His mental shields have been lowered. He seems to have shut himself down so that he does not have to feel everything, all at once. I have isolated the toxins, I should be able clear them from his blood."

"Good work, Chapel," he said, clapping a warm hand on her shoulder, causing a buzz from the Sycurian's around them, and McCoy removed his hand quickly.

"Thank you sir,"

"I have said, you don't have to call me sir. Makes me feel like your father."

"You are barely four years older than me."

"I know that. But sometimes it doesn't feel that way."

Spock was responding to her treatment, and she looked down at her patient. She could feel the swirl of emotions pull away from her, like a receding tide.

When Spock's eyes opened and saw her and realized what had happened she said, "Don't worry. I won't tell him."

Spock's eyes widened. His skin beneath her hand was too warm, his cheeks too green. He could not respond.

She did not know how long this connection between them about last, but it last past their negotiations on the planet, past Spock's treatments and then for days, then weeks on the ship. It was a slight connection, just the faintest touch of dual awareness. But she remembered the brightness of what she had seen, and she remembered its object. She became strangely aware of the Captain. She became alert to his presence, when he entered a room. His absence, when he failed to appear. It was a faint echo of the light she had seen in Spock's mind, and now when she saw Spock watching their Captain she wondered that people could not see the brightness shinning from his eyes.

She wondered that the Captain could not see it. Though then again, there was something there. She herself had seen them kiss, twice. And there must have been other opportunities, and there, when she allowed herself to remember, was the feeling of that place that Spock had closed to her, slamming like a gate and leaving her gasping.

The next week the away team beamed down to a planet called Crytel Vega. It had some mineral stores Scotty wanted to investigate. When the team returned, three hours late, Christine was waiting with McCoy in the transporter room. The party that returned looked dazed though mostly devoid of serious injuries, though the Captain's shirt has been ripped and there were scratches along his skin. Many uniforms were covered with the pieces of dried purple plant life, and there was a definite golden sheen to their skins.

"What happened down there, Jim?" McCoy asked, stepping forward.

The Captain dropped the box he was carrying onto the floor of the transporter room."We got what Scotty was looking for. Just took us a bit more time."

"You run into any trouble?"

"No real trouble, no," the Captain said. Though Christine noted the bond between herself and Spock felt taunt, straining, though the emotions around it were all calm control. She had grown used to Spock blocking the bond, but now she could feel him blocking it.

"So you just decided to take a few hours leave without telling anybody?"

"Sorry, mom, I should have called," the Captain said. He kicked a foot against the box he had dropped, as though punishing it for being the cause of his tardiness.

"We were really worried you know. We were about to send a search party," Christine said. The Captain blanched and let out a sigh, running fingers through his hair. She could see the entire right side of his shirt was ripped, and he winced as he raised his arm. It looked like he had fallen, and probably had a bruise.

"There were problems with communication. We lost track of time."

"You lost track of time?" McCoy sounded as skeptical as she felt.

"I know it was unusual and we did not mean to cause anyone to worry," the Captain glanced at Spock, who had been watching the entire exchange without speaking. "It won't happen again."

Christine caught the stricken look on Spock's face, and wondered for the first time whether the delay might have somehow been his fault. But no. Spock would never claim to have "lost track of time." This whole incident reeked of the Captain's carelessness. It was just one of the times when Spock had been unable to modulate the Captain's tendency to ignore things like schedules and protocols. He must be feeling bad about it.

McCoy stepped forward, running a regenerator over the Captain's cuts while muttering about crazy Captain's forgetting how to read clocks. It fell to Christine to treat Spock's wounds. He eyed her cautiously as she approached.

"Are you injured?"

"No."

"I would like to take a look. The Captain looks a little beat up, you probably did not escape unscathed."

Spock's face flickered for a moment with something that might have almost been an emotion, and Christine stilled. Even that much was unusual. Something had happened on that planet, and whatever it was the two of them did not want to share.

"You both outrank us," Christine said, running the regenerator over Spock's skin. "So you don't need to tell us what happened. But I hope you put a full account in your report."

"My report," Spock said the word as though he was sick. She scanned for microbes, but found none. It must have just been fatigue. "I am always through in my reports, Lieutenant."

She smiled, though she was sad. It was the same sense of ennui that had swept her occasionally at school, when she had spent all day on a project and hardly advanced a page, failed to remember a birthday or a holiday or had trouble remembering why she left home in the first place when a parent or grandparent or family member was ill. She should be happy right now with the return of Spock and the Captain. But she could not shake the sadness.

She realized it was coming through the thin bond with Spock.

It failed to dissipate over the next days, even growing. Outwardly Spock looked the same as ever, performed his duties to perfection. But afterwards he would retreat to his room.

"Do the Captain and Spock play chess any longer?"

McCoy shrugged. "I don't think so. I haven't seen them recently."

"I think Spock is depressed," Christine said. McCoy snorted.

"How can you tell?"

Maybe it wasn't just Spock, because a week later the Captain scheduled them R&R. The whole ship was excited. The Captain had picked a planet with an exemplary reputation for relaxation and entertainment.

"They have a display of plants from all over the quadrant," McCoy said, flipping through the pad. She images of large fluffy yellow leaves and spiky flowers flow past. They did look interesting. "You'll go with me?"

Christine nodded. It was on the planet that she realized they were not going to be alone.

For this trip to the planet the Captain had left behind the command golds and wore a plan black T-shirt, with grey pants. It looked good on him, and he seemed lighter somehow. It made him resemble more than usual McCoy's roommate from the Academy.

Alice and some of the newer ensigns were looking at her jealously, and it was funny really because neither she nor McCoy was overly eager for the Captain's presence at the moment. Since forming the thin bond with Spock, being too close to the Captain was, confusing. She found she was more aware than ever of the way his muscles moved beneath his uniform, the way his hair rolled in waves across his skull, a fascinating juxtaposition of fragility and strength . . .

She shook her head, looked around for Spock. Sure enough there he was, standing by a large yellow plant it great, hand-shaped leaves. They were at the entrance to the plant display.

The Captain was speaking. "Thought I could spend some time with you, how about it?"

He flashed one of those smiles, and Christine's pulse actually increased. She had never had this problem around the Captain before, and was annoyed to have it now, enough that she must have frowned at the Captain's suggestion.

"What, Chapel? You would prefer to be alone with Bones?"

McCoy just sighed, as the Captain turned, noting Spock by the plant. "Spock, you'd like this, right? Looking at these plants and stuff? Join us, I'd rather not be the third wheel."

Spock walked over carefully. "I would not have expected you to want to see local plant life."

"What? I like plants."

"You rarely spend time on the botanical deck of the ship."

"Sure, but that's because I'm busy on the ship. This is vacation, and I want to spend time with my friends." Alice was close enough to hear this and was now glaring daggers at Christine. "You know I have that plant you gave me in my room."

Christine tried to imagine Spock presenting the Captain with a plant, and failed.

Spock's lip quirked. "Based on my observations, it would have an 88.3 percent chance of perishing if left solely to your care. I believe it has only survived this long because I visit regularly."

"It's not my fault you gave me a difficult plant."

"It is not a particularly difficult variety."

"Well these plants will hardly be in any danger from me just looking at them, so shall we go?"

They were not the only ones in the display. The world was popular, and Christine saw many patrons of different species, most she had seen but some which were unfamiliar. She saw a group of Sycurian's behind a gnarled tree. There were Orions and a couple of Klingons, and many more she did not recognize.

They looked at the plant life. McCoy kept up a steady stream of commentary, joined with varying levels of enthusiasm by the Captain and occasionally Spock would speak as well. It was interesting observing the Captain and Spock up close—there was definitely a tension, and they would not infrequently brush together, and one of the other would jolt back with unnecessary abruptness. It was like they were two magnets orbiting each other, drawn together but constantly being pulled apart.

And she could feel it. Being close to Spock increased whatever this connection between them was, and she could feel a steady pressure of confusion and sadness. She knew she was just getting a small fragment of what Spock was dealing with in his mind. She remembered the strength of it, the brightness, and wondered anew at the Vulcan calm. It had been more than a crush. More than oneness, or need, or desire. It had been an almost feral need for possession. She had read about the old rituals back on Vulcan, how things had been before Sarek's reforms—could imagine when Vulcans had been ruled by such passions things must have been not only emotional, but dangerous. Because she could feel Spock's resentment even when she walked to close to the Captain. That he wanted to reach out, to separate them. Which was ridiculous, but strong enough that she kept instead close to McCoy.

A group of the newer crew members had also decided to visit the plant displays. It was a group of mostly women, though a few men were in the crowd as well. Christine figured they had hoped to get to know the Captain during their shore leave. She saw Tamara in the crowd. When their groups met—core members of the command team, plus her, meeting this group of ensigns—it was Tamara who stepped forward to speak with them.

"A group of us will be going downtown later, Captain," Tamara said boldly. "We were hoping you might join us. I heard you enjoyed going to _The Narwhal_ back in San Francisco. We have asked around for a similar venue."

The Captain smiled. Christine recognized some of the ensigns in the crowd as those she had spoken to about crushes on the Captain—not to have them, that their lives on the Enterprise would be easier if they could expunge such emotions.

"Will they have white Russians?" the Captain asked.

"I asked them to get some ready."

"Well how could I refuse? I am sure we would love to too—" Christine noticed the slight falter. It was Spock he looked at, and she realized he had assumed Spock would come along. "Wouldn't we?"

"You should go out, Captain. You are in need of relaxation, and activities which have proven pleasurable in the past are the logical place to turn. Ensign Tamara's suggestion is a good one."

"You will come too?"

"I never visited the Narwhal during my time at Starfleet Academy. Such a visit would not have the same effect on me."

"Well, I'm not going if you are not going."

"That is hardly logical."

They were doing this. This argument was happening, in front of the ensigns. Christine wondered that they could not realize what they were watching—something dangerously close to a lover's quarrel. But she realized she was seeing it from a certain angle. From another angle, it might look like the Captain was just encouraging his first officer to take some time away from the ship.

"You can't seriously be suggesting you are not coming with me?"

"I am content to return to the ship."

"You are not returning to the ship, by yourself, when I planned this whole thing—look, Spock just come out with us."

"I have no wish to go out, Captain. I will not be returning by myself. I shall return with Nurse Chapel. I suspect she too has no wish to go out, from what I observed of her preferences in the past."

The Captain shot her a look. It was a strange mix of feeling she got. One, the part of her that was excited that Spock knew enough of her preferences to know she would much prefer not to go clubbing. The other the knowledge the Captain knew of her feelings for Spock. And his lack of knowledge that she knew anything about the less than platonic relationship between himself and his first officer, and then there was Spock himself who though their mind connection was weak could not have failed to pick up she felt more than friendly admiration for him and really things were much too complicated.

"Yes, Captain. I think I would like to return to the ship."

The group behind him was stirring. Used to waiting for their Captain's orders they were silent, but it was clear they wanted to get going. And that while they were keen on having their Captain join them, and receptive to having Spock join them—Spock in a club? Even she was a bit curious to see how he would handle it, though it would probably involve a lot of standing around, avoiding people and not talking.

"Well, that's fine then," the Captain did not quite snap, but his tone had become more abrupt. "If you change your mind, you know where we will be. I will see you when I get back."

Spock looked calm, sounded calm. But there was a vibration coming through their bond, like a bass string plucked, thrumming deeper every moment. There were emotions rippling through the vibration, resentment and irritation oscillating back and forth, completely invisible on the surface but humming through her.

In her opinion, he needed to get away from the Captain, or this obsession would simply grow. He was not yet what she would have defined as emotionally compromised, but that she could feel even through the tenuous tremor linking their minds the strength of that allure was a bad sign. To be living in that mind would be impossible. She wondered if Spock was aware of the persistence of their tenuous connection. Somewhere next to a huge orange flower plant he motioned she should stop.

"I do not know if you are aware. On the Sycurian planet, when my neurology was affected by the foods. I believe we formed a link, a link which has continued in a very weak form during our time on the Enterprise."

"I was aware, yes."

"I have been blocking my mind from you. And I have refrained from entering yours, out of respect for your privacy. But I think it would be wise to sever the bond manually at the earliest opportunity. I had expected the bond to fade over time. But something seems to be keeping it in place. It is not my intention to pry into your private affairs, but I believe you may be allowing your regard for me to strengthen the bond. Inadvertently."

His tone was neutral, but Christine took a breath. Keeping it in place. Yes, that might have been what she was doing. It was unintentional, but by focusing on it so constantly she might very well have reinforced its strength.

"Maybe I'm doing something," Christine paused. He was standing there, so close, and the flicker of that intense love, passion, need echoed in her head, tripping like static electricity through the air between them. Was he feeling that even now? Repressing that, even now? "Maybe I'm worried about you."

Spock did not say anything for some time. Then, finally, "There is no need to be worried about me. But I understand you might desire to discuss what you experienced during the first moments of our accidental connection. I am willing."

If it was anyone else, she would have thought this was a request for help or support. That Spock wanted to talk. But that was not what this was. Not solely. She knew he would have preferred to keep this part of himself private. But, it might do him good to talk.

"You are in love with the Captain?" Christine asked.

This was enough to provoke a slight physical reaction—a shifted of his feet and rearrangement of his hands.

"No. Love is a human expression."

It was an evasion. She might have pointed out he was half human. That she had seen inside his head. That he had been giving the Captain moon eyes all afternoon. She did not need him to say it, because she had seen it. She had felt it.

She had had conversations dissuading attachment to the Captain before, with Alice, with other women on the ship. They had come with their crushes and asked Christine to talk them out of it. He was too busy, too famous, too selfish, or too devoted to ship and career. There was no future. Sure, maybe for a one night stand, but it was not worth it and he did not engage in such things with the crew anyway (that was something she had noticed and appreciated). But this was different.

So completely, disturbingly, different.

Because Spock was not one of the smitten ensigns or one of the dozens of new recruits that had flooded the ship after the fight with Kahn. There was the fact he was a man, and if he was anyone else she would have pointed out that the Captain was famous, infamous, for his womanizing. But somehow that didn't matter. Because the thing was, Spock knew the Captain already. They relied on each other. They were the command team of the ship. Whatever the origins of their dynamic—and she was still angry at the Captain for his usurpation of Spock back at the very beginning—they had come to form a unit. She suspected it was the tightest friendship either of them had ever known. And of course it was not just a friendship, and that grey zone that they were inhabiting was the cause of this buzzing vibration in her bond with Spock. They had kissed, twice that she knew about, and probably more.

So instead of her usual litany of dissuasive phrases, she said, "How can you feel this way? You are so different -" _You are too good for him_ , she might have said, though knew such words would not be helpful. Christine avoided the confusing feelings this all evoked. She went for one of the facts "You should be Captain of the Enterprise."

"Should is a normative term that has no meaning in this situation. I am content in my current position."

"But you were Captain until he took it from you. You can't have just forgotten about that."

"You are speaking of events that happened long in the past. The situation then was different, as were the positions of the parties involved. I have long sense ceased to think about that time and I advise that you do the same."

"He took your command, and with that he took a bit of your reputation. You used to be the best young professor at Starfleet Academy, and now you are just his second officer."

"I did not know you had such an aversion to the Captain. I had thought he was popular with the crew."

"It is not that I have an aversion to him. He is, a good guy, and has done well as a Captain. But he is not good for _you._ He has taken the future from you. He has taken the ship that should have been yours. By staying with him, you are giving up your own command, giving up a career, a position. You are slowing yourself down by tying yourself to him, and I don't understand why you would."

These were the facts of it. The facts of Spock's situation, and it was impossible to argue with the logic of facts. He would be given command of any of the new ships in the fleet, if he just asked. That was a fact.

"I have considered my future, though you seem to think I have not these considerations often enter my thoughts. I have considered the various avenues my life could take. I have been contacted numerous times by Starfleet command about resuming teaching, or being given command of one of the new ships. I have refused them all. There is no path that I prefer to the route by his side. I will stay by him. Vulcans you understand are not accustomed to speaking on subjects such as this, but I will add a few words to what you have seen in my mind. A life without him is something I will not accept. If he and I are both alive in this universe, I will find him and I will stay by him."

It was just so damned _romantic_. But, was it? Life long friends, or lovers? She knew which one Spock wanted. She had seen it, felt it. She had seen them kiss, seen a flash of something else too when her mind had touched Spock's. Sex. Or contact. Skin on skin and intense emotion, purple leaves and heavy air. But she also knew the Captain's reputation - womanizer - knew also it had been well deserved. She had never heard of him partnering with men. She remembered also Uhura's words, _Nor do I want to see him pining for something he cannot have._

"Can he give you what you want from him?"

"I know the type of attachment I have formed is not optimal, and does not fit the Captain's typical pattern," Spock's eyes flickered for a moment, enough that Christine, watching him carefully in the colorful lights coming through plant leaves, saw the reaction clearly. "I have been working on suppressing these emotions and hope soon to be successful."

"You shouldn't need to suppress anything."

"You know that is incorrect. Consider rephrasing."

"What I mean is," Christine took a breath. "How you feel about him. You won't be able to stay by him without facing those feelings. You will need to resolve it with him."

"Sometimes it is necessary to suppress certain facets of a relationship when two people are not—I believe humans would say—on the same page. I believe you understand that."

He was talking about how she felt about him. He had seen it. The same way she had seen the bright light connecting him to the Captain. Because there was no way such a connection was a one-way street. Of course Spock would have a front row seat to her mind, probably had even the darkest corners clearly illuminated. She blushed but kept speaking.

"But it is not the same. You can't go back—I mean you two have already, had sex."

Spock's dark eyes turned to coals. "I have no need to discuss the physical aspects of our relationship. The Captain has made clear that I am not to expect such incidents to become a lasting feature in our interactions. I will respect his wishes."

That was unhealthy. If such incidents occurred with such regularity that Spock was referring to them in the plural—and so far after each one, the Captain had what, withdrawn? Made clear it was the last time? That he didn't want a physical relationship? Though she felt she had a window into this thing between her commanding officers, there was a gaping hole in her knowledge where the Captain was concerned. She had no idea of his feelings. Other than that he was probably taking the whole thing much less seriously than Spock. He must be. The brightness in Spock's mind, the ache—Spock's mind was full of the Captain, an ever present force that seemed entwined with every thought, almost as though—

"Are you bonded with him? Not like, us, but as a pair bond? I studied them, for my thesis. Their healing properties, for one, are known but not well understood."

"I have not asked him to bond with me."

"But you want to?"

"If you have studied the pair bonds, then you know their significance. If you are asking me if I want to engage in such a relationship with the Captain, I will merely remind you my wants are not the only factor in this equation. I must respect the Captain's wishes in this, and he had made himself plain. I will not pressure him with feelings he does not share."

"You don't want him to feel burdened by you. Obligated to you. People say love should be selfless. But love can be a burden to the other person. Expectations and responsibilities. Just because you love them doesn't mean they owe you anything."

"Yes."

"You should go to the bar with him. He wanted you to go. So you should go with him."

"I have no interest in such establishments."

"But you are interested in him. He will be happy to have you there. I will go with you, and we can be silent and morose together if you like."

"I am not morose."

They went to the bar. It was both like and unalike the establishments at home—there was an overlap in stock, but the clientele was certainly different, and the entire space was lit by some florescent plant-life that seemed engineered to cast a strange pinkish light over the surroundings.

"Spock!"

The Captain might have already had a white Russian or two. He came over with a huge grin—leaving Tamara, who he had been talking too near the dance floor—and actually gave Spock a hug. It was strange enough that those of the crew nearby looked at them, though Christine was the only one who saw the Spock's hand follow the Captain as he pulled back, as though seeking to prolong the contact.

"I guess it wouldn't do any good to ask you to dance, but maybe you'll, like, sway with me for a while? We can talk about what in the world is going on with these plants," the pink light had changed now to a purple, and Christine realized they were going to be cycling through colors. "I think it must be something in the carotenoids, shifting through the color spectrum by jumping between valances . . ."

This is something the Captain actually seemed keen on discussing, and Christine found herself alone at the bar, until Tamara came to join her.

"You convinced Spock to come. I did not think it could be done."

"He just needed the right form of inducement."

"The Captain talks a lot about him. I don't think he notices, but he is always saying he'll ask Spock about things. Like the plants here, he talked about them for about five minutes before concluding he would have to get Spock's opinion."

"They make a good command team."

"It is a good sign for both of them. Close friendships with male friends means a capacity for partnership—it makes for a better prospective mate. My mother always told me it was a good sign."

"You are ambitious," Christine said.

"No reason to aim low. I would never have gotten this post on the Enterprise if I were not ambitious. You are close to both of them, I think?"

"I am not close with the Captain."

"But you have been on the ship from the beginning. Would you tell me, has the Captain ever shown any serious, romantic designs on anyone?"

"Not serious, no. He does not have time for it. I do not think he is a good prospect for anyone in the crew at the moment."

"Yes you have a reputation for giving that advice. Some wonder if you are looking to save him for yourself."

It was so ridiculous Christine allowed herself a soft laugh. "I have no interest of that kind in the Captain."

"I think that is true," Tamara said, turning back to the dance floor. "I think you are interested in Spock. Which would seem a possibility, now he has broken up with Uhura. Do you think it is a possibility?"

"I think it better not to spend too much mental energy on speculations about romantic attachments with commanding officers."

It sounded like a rebuke, and it was.

"Do you know if Spock is interested in someone else?"

Tamara was watching Spock and the Captain. The Captain had leaned in and was speaking low in Spock's ear. One of the Captain's hands was curled into Spock's upper arm, and they were standing very close. The noise in the club was almost enough to justify the proximity, but not quite. They were clearly very comfortable with each other, physically. Christine didn't think she had ever seen even Uhura standing so intimately with Spock in public. It didn't need to be necessarily sexual, but for Christine, knowing what she did, they might as well have been making out.

"I cannot speak as to Spock's situation. I believe he is unattached at the moment."

Then the two of them left the dance, actually, left the room. They disappeared beyond some pillars. Christine knew it was wrong. But she followed. She followed them down a hall. Watched them slide behind a curtain. Then slid behind after them.

It was a dim lit room. Various soft surfaces lined the walls, and the floor was covered in something purple and fuzzy.

And the Captain and Spock were standing in the middle of it. There was a split second where the distance was maintained.

The Captain's eyes went wide when he saw her, and he was pushing Spock away. Spock was only a split second away in realizing her presence. He left before she could speak with him, and she started to move after him but before she could the Captain's eyes were on her.

"What did you see?"

"Can't you see what you are doing to him?" She hissed at him. "Sort yourself out, Captain. Decide what you can give him and consider being consistent."

Christine went back into the main room, but there was no sign of Spock. The crowd rolled on but she could catch not a glimmer of him.

"Has anyone seen Spock?" A dozen pairs of eyes stared back at the Captain, and everyone was silent. Sulu and Chekhov pointed in different directions. "Well, crap."


End file.
